


A line of red droplets that say whip

by Zeborah



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Gen, Murder, Torture, profiler!unsub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 48
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeborah/pseuds/Zeborah
Summary: The new kid wants to work with serial killers. Sorry: he wants to catch them. He'd better be careful one of them doesn't catch him.





	1. Chapter 1

When he first meets the new kid -- all puppy eyes and youthful energy, practically bouncing on his toes in his excitement at getting to work with the famous founders of the BAU -- he nearly laughs. "So you want to work with serial killers."

"Uh," says the kid. "I want to catch them."

A smirk escapes him there as he looks the lanky length of him up and down. "Careful one of them doesn't catch you."


	2. Chapter 2

He takes the kid under his wing, shows him the ropes. Figuratively speaking. It's more rewarding than he expected, seeing him drink up every word. Teaching him how to look, and seeing the world himself with new eyes.

It's a good thing he knows better than to shit where he eats.


	3. Chapter 3

He relishes seeing the blood slowly suffuse the kid's face as he walks him through recreating the torture that left these blood spatters and scuff marks. Most green agents pale when they're about to lose their lunch, but this kid's different. He even toughs it out until they have their profile and he can oh-so-casually excuse himself to the bathroom.

He's all business when he emerges, too, as if that could hide the damp edges.

"Relax, kiddo," he says, "we've all done it."

The kid glances at him in startlement, and as quickly looks away. "Well, I don't think everyone has."

Which is true. Back before he learned to control his reaction, the only reason he excused himself from a particularly gruesome crimescene was for a quick and furious wank. Even this one has him feeling warm -- or perhaps that's seeing the kid bite his lip on a parting glance at the line of red droplets that say _whip_.


	4. Chapter 4

He pulls over on the way back home to leave one of his prepared bags with a man begging for spare change outside a Starbucks. When he gets back in the car the kid ventures a neutral, "That's nice."

He shrugs it off uncomfortably. "It's just hotel soap. Technically it's stolen property."

"Then I guess that makes me an accessory after the fact."

He looks sideways at the kid and discovers he has an impressive poker face. "I won't tell if you won't."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is it?" the kid asks, turning the metal device in his gloved hands.

"A heretic's fork," he says, and can't resist. He plucks it from the kid's tentative grasp and shows him: "A leather strap through here secures it around your neck. These prongs go on your chest -- these ones at your throat."

The kid stands very still with the prongs touching his reflexively upraised chin. The skin, taut at his throat, ripples as he suppresses the urge to swallow. "Sss-s-so," he manages -- when the fork's lowered again two white dots remain on the skin -- "where's the strap?"

His heart thuds twice in his ears before he realises the kid's still talking about the case.


	6. Chapter 6

They all get a few days off, and he makes the most of the opportunity. On the way out of town he sees the same man begging for change, and stops to buy him a sandwich. "Looks like rain coming," he comments.

"Yeah, I got my umbrella," the man says in good humour, patting the old tarpaulin he's sitting on.

He nods and half-turns back to his car; hesitates. "I've got a cabin," he says abruptly. "It's a bit out of town so-- And it'd just be a few days. But if you wanted -- I mean, there's a spare bed."

"Oh, man. That's real good of you, but you don't gotta do that. I'm good here."

But there's a wistfulness buried under his hesitation, and it isn't that hard to convince him the offer's genuine.


	7. Chapter 7

"Good holiday?" the kid asks when he gets back to the office.

"Not long enough," he says regretfully. "You?"

"Oh, I... got some chores done, so.... --Is it sad that I'm actually glad to be back at work?"

"Yeah, it is," he tells him, and the kid grimaces helplessly before digging his nose back into the file in front of him. A lock of his hair falls out of place; in his concentration he doesn't seem to notice.

Being back at work isn't all bad.


	8. Chapter 8

It's a gruelingly long interview. He watches every minute of it through the one-way glass as the kid calmly, patiently, methodically prods at the UnSub for weak spots. The UnSub prods back and a few times the kid falters, but he never looks an appeal for help. Most of the falters seem planned, to make the UnSub overconfident. They work: the kid gets the name of the dumpsite.

He's not one to shower anyone with praise, but when the kid emerges, face flushed with victory, he concedes a gruff, "Not bad for your first time interrogating a psychopath."

"Oh, well, not quite my first," the kid says modestly. "To be honest I think he just really wants to go to the bathroom." They both look through the glass at the empty water bottles littering the table, and the UnSub shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Uh, speaking of which," the kid adds, and pauses as if waiting for permission.

He grants it with a grunt and stays there, enjoying the pleasant fullness in his own groin and the muffled demands for attention from the UnSub.


	9. Chapter 9

"Sir?"

He looks up in confusion at the kid hovering there with a file in both hands. Not that he doesn't appreciate the show of respect, but Dave pulled the _I work for my living_ line last time the kid tried it on him, and since then he's stuck to surnames. "What's wrong?"

"I was doing some background research into Virginia's open missing persons and I can't be sure, but..." He hands the file over. "Isn't this the man you gave that soap to?"

He remembers the face in the photo from the man stepping trustingly into his cabin; later scrunched up in agony under the lash; later staring out at him from the grave. "Yeah, I... think it is," he says, and scans the form it's attached to. It's mostly ticks in checkboxes with two brief notes: the complainant is an estranged brother, and local shopkeepers haven't seen the man since the storm. He's not considered vulnerable or endangered. "They have any idea what happened?"

"I think that's all there is. I just... thought you'd want to know." His voice trails off almost into a question, as if seeking reassurance.

"Yeah," he says, and after a moment he closes the file. After another moment he hands it back. "Yeah. Thanks," he adds, and after a final moment's contemplation he turns back to his work.


	10. Chapter 10

"Charleston doesn't want your germs," Dave points out, and takes the kid there without him.

So he spends the next two days eating matzo ball soup and feeling sorry for himself. Not because he's sick: he's not _that_ sick. He's not jealous either, he tells himself. It's just that the kid's making real progress and Dave is probably going to undo all his hard work.

But the day after the kid gets back, he picks up a file and three hotel soaps slip out.

There's no way the kid could know what that soap means, he tells himself. But he feels warm and giddy for the rest of the day.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm the UnSub," he says, standing with his back to the front door. "I come in the front, subdue the husband first because he's the greater threat -- but he puts up a fight. It takes time."

The kid moves into the kitchen and looks around. "Well, if I'm the wife, that gives me time to flee out back, or call 911, or grab the carving knife and come to help my husband. But I don't do any of those things."

He follows the kid and watches him working through it.

"I'm just chopping vegetables," the kid says, miming it as if he's never chopped a vegetable in his life, "when something startles me--" He turns to follow the scattered carrots: it leaves him facing the door to the backyard. He frowns at it. "But if the UnSub started with her then we've got the same problem with the husband."

"It looks like I've got a partner," he says.


	12. Chapter 12

He hates disposing of his victims.

Not digging the graves: that's no worse than chopping firewood. Not filling them in afterwards: that's just basic respect. _Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.... ___

__But killing them. Watching the life leave their bodies, as they slump in a stillness more still than unconsciousness. Knowing they'll never wake again to cry or plead or scream--_ _

__If only there were some way to keep them. But he just can't come out here often enough. If he left them tied up they'd die of thirst in a week; if he gave them any slack too much else could go wrong. So there's no option but to kill them._ _

__It's just such a terrible waste._ _


	13. Chapter 13

Usually they get a room with two singles, but this small town upstate of Podunk doesn't offer much of a choice and they know the Bureau's not springing for an extra room.

"I'll take the floor," the kid says matter-of-factly.

The bed's barely got space for a married couple. "Sure?"

"Yeah," says the kid. He pulls a spare pillow and blankets out of a cupboard and turns to see him watching him. "Well, it's nice carpet. Can't be worse than camping."

The next morning, when he asks, the kid admits, "Maybe it's a _little_ worse than camping" -- but he takes the floor that night too.

He doesn't know which of them gets less sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

"There's another missing homeless person," the kid says.

He looks at him as long as he dares, given he's driving. "In Virginia? There must be a dozen a day."

"Missing persons, yes, but of course they're mostly runaways, custody cases, psychiatric or dementia patients -- even homeless people usually turn up in the ED with pneumonia or an overdose. What troubles me is that so few missing homeless people usually get reported at all, for two to completely disappear is... well, it's a striking coincidence."

He nods thoughtfully, and drives, and shakes his head. "What's this background research you're doing, anyway?"

"You know, we spend so much time trying to identify which bodies or missing people are victims of a serial killer and which are just... normal activity, so I just thought it would be useful to get an idea of what that normal activity looks like. --I'm not sure it's going that well."


	15. Chapter 15

The kid abruptly takes leave. So he ends up working the case in Pittsburgh by himself, and is disconcerted how much he misses the kid's questions, his insights -- even his presence on the road home.

On impulse he stops in Greensburg. He hasn't spent weeks building trust with anyone here, but he blitzes a man sleeping in a dark alley and hefts him into his trunk, quickly but securely tying him up. Then he spends five hours transporting the body across state lines, mind buzzing with the risk of it and how it up-ends all his usual routine; groin throbbing every time the man's shouts rise over the noise of the engine.

Is this what it feels like to devolve?


	16. Chapter 16

At his cabin he grabs his vest. Then he gets out and pads quickly in another direction to shout, "FBI! Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!" He tosses his gun back by the car and runs there, slamming himself against the frame. The man in the trunk shouts for help as the car rocks. He relishes the sound even as he mirandas the imaginary kidnapper and shoves him to his imaginary partner: "Get him out of here."

His victim is shaking and blubbering gratitude as he takes his time untying him. He helps him out of the trunk. The man stumbles on a cramp and leans on him, and all his nerves evaporate in the purity of the moment.

"My partner's taking that son of a bitch in for booking," he explains. "Backup's going to take a while to get out here, though. Let's wait for them inside."

The man goes trustingly with him.


	17. Chapter 17

The UnSub stealing, smothering, and burying baby girls proves to be a delusional woman grieving a recent miscarriage. The kid reasons with her with surprising tenderness, then walks her to the police car without handcuffs. His hand lingers on her blonde hair as he ducks her in.

He swallows a knot of jealousy and focuses on shushing the squalling bundle in his arms.

The police car drives off. The kid rejoins him, looking like he's expecting some kind of word or gesture of praise.

"What did you take leave for, anyway?" he asks instead. The baby wails even louder.

The kid flinches, and his face shutters. "Family emergency," he says shortly, and walks away again.


	18. Chapter 18

The kid's on the phone again, murmuring with a tender patience too low to parse, too loud to ignore. Dave would make him leave him alone, but Dave's in Cinncinnati, so he takes a stack of case files over and drops it on the desk to watch him jump.

The kid looks up in bewilderment; then a tinny voice asks something in his handset and he tells it, "Everything's fine, I've just got to go. I'll call later," and hangs up.

"Friendly advice, kid. Work's work and home's home. Don't mix the two up."

He's halfway back to his desk when he hears the kid mutter, "Does that mean I can go home at five?"

"Go home any time you like," he retorts without looking back. "No-one's chaining you to your desk."

It's half an hour before he can concentrate on anything other than how much he wants to.


	19. Chapter 19

The kid never goes home before six. That night...

Well, he doesn't know what time the kid goes home that night. But when _he_ goes home at nine and change, they've got through three fourths of their backlog between them; and when he arrives the next morning the rest of it's done and waiting for his approval while the kid brews a fresh pot of coffee.

And if the kid makes any more phone calls, it's not where he can hear them.


	20. Chapter 20

"I screwed up," says the kid when he finds him pacing in the next victim's backyard.

"Relax, kid. Neither of us picked it was his mother who'd been abusing him."

"I was the one who interviewed her."

"We've all got our blindspots." He's starting to suspect that his is right in front of him.


	21. Chapter 21

The kid spends the drive home looking out the side window, arms tightly folded across his chest. He's not always talkative, but this is a particularly oppressive silence.

"Penny for 'em," he says.

At first only a twitch of the kid's mouth shows he's heard. But after a minute he says, "People often assume that people who were abused as a child will grow up hating their abuser -- and obviously in this case he did, but it's usually a lot more complicated than that. In fact they'll often internalise the anger directed at them, they'll rationalise the beatings as deserved or... the abuser's way of showing they care."

"No kid deserves that," he says.

"I know," says the kid, "but the point is the abuse shapes the child's entire emotional and psychosocial worldview. Even as they hate the violence inflicted on them they're conditioned to love the person inflicting it. They may displace their anger onto the non-abusive parent and, given a choice between the two... may even pick their abuser."

Silence falls again and he mentally replays that speech, the restrained passion, the stumbles. He wonders whether the kid intended to bare his soul -- and if so, why now? Why to him?

In a lower voice the kid murmurs, "And later in life they often find themselves recreating the same dynamic...."


	22. Chapter 22

"Forecast says it might snow tonight," he tells the homeless man, putting a hot coffee into his hands. He imagines splinters under the ragged fingernails, but it's a strangely clinical thought, not like the images that usually pull at him.

"Know somewhere I could spend the night?" the man asks with a flirting smile. He's a boy, really. And there's nothing trusting about him, he just thinks he's found a soft touch.

"I, uh." _I've got a cabin,_ he prompts himself, but he doesn't say it. Even thinking about how they might be snowed in -- maybe for days, alone and uninterrupted -- suddenly does nothing for him. He pulls several bills from his wallet instead. "Get a motel room," he says, and turns abruptly back to his car.

He feels shaky as he drives away, faintly virtuous and faintly cheated. _Wanting_ \-- but not the homeless man. That's not what he wants. It hasn't been for months and months now.


	23. Chapter 23

"I'm the UnSub," he insists, tightly pacing the claustrophobic office local PD have begrudged them. "I've been taking prostitutes for years. It's my obsession, my... sustenance. The hunger doesn't go away. Why do I stop?"

Studying the photoboard, elbow in hand, the kid suggests, "Maybe you've realised someone's onto you."

"No," he dismisses the idea. "I'm too sure of myself for that. Even if I realised they were, I wouldn't believe they posed any threat to me."

"Then... maybe you've found something better."


	24. Chapter 24

The kid brings him a set of morgue photos and a frown. "Do these burns look like a cattle prod to you?"

A quick shuffle through them is enough to validate the kid's doubt. "She'd die before you shocked her that many times with a cattle prod. Maybe a stun gun. High voltage, low current." He taps the photos square, twice, and hands them back. "Like my picana. A thousandth of an amp -- twelve, sixteen thousand volts."

"Aren't those illegal to possess?"

He gives an off-handed shrug. "You can't split up a collection."

The kid swallows. "I... think I'd like to see that collection one day."


	25. Chapter 25

"You haven't taken a holiday for a while," Dave notes.

"I guess not." He knows not. He'd rather be here, watching-- waiting-- steering--

"Seriously. Take a week. Spend some time with your son."

"Drop it," he says darkly. Dave lifts his eyebrows sky high, but he drops it.


	26. Chapter 26

"Do you get dreams?" the kid asks one late night. "About the job?"

"Ehh. Every job gets its dreams."

"I guess so," says the kid, but doesn't go back to his report. He just turns his pen in his fingers, end to end. "Sometimes I dream I'm running through these dark woods, only I'm not sure if I'm chasing someone, or if I'm being chased."

"What happens if you stop running?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know."


	27. Chapter 27

He dreams they're stalking an UnSub through the woods at dusk, when he hears a shout and realises the kid's no longer with him. He catches up to them just in time to shoot the UnSub off him.

The kid tries to get up, but his ankles and wrists are strapped in tight, and the chair's made of solid oak. Looking up at him, his eyes widen. "W-what is that?"

In his hand is an empty stapler, solid cast iron. "It's a thumbikins." He sets it on the armrest and inserts the kid's thumb between its jaws. He's not sure if it'll work without the screw, but when he slams down on it the kid _screams_.

He wakes with his boxers sticky like he's a teenager again.


	28. Chapter 28

"Do you ever wonder what they think in their last moments?" the kid asks, looking down at a muddy face in an excavated grave in a swamp.

He shrugs. He's never needed to wonder. People don't really hide what they're thinking when they're about to die. "Sometimes they're relieved. They can stop trying to fight or run."

The kid looks up at him, as if about to ask how he knows. It will be easy, if he does, to remind him: sometimes they save them.

But the kid turns back to watching the mud ooze and doesn't say anything at all.


	29. Chapter 29

The kid's getting good: occasionally he even reaches a conclusion before he does.

"We'll have to send you out on your own one of these days," he says.

"I guess so," the kid agrees. It's a far cry from his usual keenness.

"What's wrong? Not excited about having your own cases again?"

"I wouldn't say that," the kid says, and meets his gaze with eyes clear and brown. "But if you're not there... who's going to play the UnSub?"


	30. Chapter 30

He knows better than to shit where he eats. He knows better.

So he takes the young homeless man back to his cabin and watches the flirting smile redouble from belated nervousness when he brings out the rope. "Kinky, I like it. But how about--"

"It's not a kink, kid. It's sadism. Different mechanism." He didn't grow up on the streets, but he's fought plenty of people who have. Once the kid's switchblade is on the other side of the room he's easy to truss up. Returning to the chest he got the rope from, he brings out his toolbox. "You said you wanted to see my collection."

"No," the kid says, wide-eyed. " _No_ , that wasn't me, I never said that. Let's just--"

It's better when the kid's screaming in too much pain for words.

But it's still not what he _wants_.


	31. Chapter 31

"You like that part," the kid observes when he returns from the ambulance.

"Yeah," he says. He likes that the victims, so freshly traumatised by a stranger's assault -- or worse, a friend or family member destroying their trust -- still invariably take one look at him and the _FBI_ on his vest and place their full trust, without reservation, straight in his hands. "You don't?"

"Sure," says the kid. "It's just not my favourite." His gaze goes to the police car he's just consigned the kidnapper to. "My favourite part is the moment when they realise that they're the one who's about to be locked away in a dingy hole, only no-one's ever coming to rescue _them_."

The grim conviction in the kid's tone makes him shiver. The kid looks a question at him, and he quickly shrugs it off. "Getting cold out. Let's pack up."


	32. Chapter 32

Their next UnSub has medical training. The kid frowns over his handiwork longer than necessary, and finally asks, "How does a doctor justify murder?"

"It's not about justification," he reminds him. "It's about obsession."

"I know that, but on some level he has to know it's wrong. This is someone who's supposed to save lives. What makes him become a serial killer?"

He shakes his head. "You're asking the wrong question. What makes a serial killer become a doctor?" And he walks out of the examining room before the kid can venture an answer.


	33. Chapter 33

He knows better than to shit where he eats. There's too much that could go wrong.

And when things going wrong could end in prison, or on death row... If it's a waste to dispose of a homeless guy who, face it, is most likely going to end up in the ED with pneumonia, how can he risk letting himself waste away in some dingy hole instead of staying out here, saving lives?

And then there's the kid. Disposing of him would be worse than a crime. Worse than a sin.

If only there were some way to _keep_ him.


	34. Chapter 34

"I'm the UnSub," he says, and closes his fingers around the kid's throat from behind. The kid flinches, but then stands still. Even as he tightens his grasp, tighter, tighter, the kid stands there only fighting his own autonomic impulses to fight.

Tighter-- Abruptly he comes back to himself and lets go. And the kid gasps in a harsh wheeze of air, and stumbles, and abruptly turns to stride out of the lounge.

It takes him longer to catch his own breath and move again. In trepidation he goes after the kid, trying to work out what he'll say.

He finds the kid in a bedroom, looking at himself in a mirror. He's loosened his tie; his throat is red with thick finger marks. "They don't match."

"What?" he asks.

Without turning, the kid lifts a hand: wound thrice around it is a length of thick rubber tubing. And four red half-moons are etched into his palm, but his hand barely shakes as he lets him take the tubing. Their eyes meet in the reflection, asking -- offering. For a moment neither of them breathes.

He's the one who wheels about and leaves the kid behind as he flees the house. He-- The kid--

They have a profile to deliver.


	35. Chapter 35

They finish the case without further incident. And another.

He should send the kid out on his own case. Dave's starting to ask why he doesn't.

He should go back to working on his own again, and get his head on straight.

But he can't. He just...

If the kid's not there, who's going to play the victim?


	36. Chapter 36

The kid's working late again, and abruptly the silence is too deep, the steady rustling of paper too loud. He shoves his chair back and says, "Come with me."

The kid starts from his crimescene photos, his eyes dilated in the dim evening light. "Where are we going?" he asks even as he grabs his briefcase.

"You won't need that," he tells him. Starts to turn -- thinks better. "Or your phone or gun."

The kid blinks, but he doesn't question him again. He just puts his phone and gun (safety on, clip out) in his desk drawer. Then he follows him out the door.


	37. Chapter 37

They get into his car; they clip in their seatbelts. He puts his key in the ignition and doesn't turn it. "There's a blindfold in the glove compartment," he says, heart in his chest.

The kid looks at him, and looks at the glove compartment. For a moment everything is frozen in time. Then he opens the compartment and takes the blindfold out. He runs the black silk through his fingers, testing the padding. "We're going to your cabin."

"Yeah," he says, and waits.

The kid lets out an unsteady breath. With unsteady hands he lifts the blindfold and ties it in place.

He checks the fit while the kid sits still under his touch. Both their pulses are pounding.


	38. Chapter 38

They pull up outside the cabin in the quiet of night. He switches the headlights off. "You can get out now," he says.

The kid gets out and tentatively feels his way around the car. He hasn't taken off the blindfold. "It... sounds isolated."

"It is," he says. He lifts the blindfold off himself so the kid can see, by a sliver of moonlight, the shadow of the cabin and the thick trees surrounding them. "You could scream at the top of your lungs and no-one would hear. Try it."

The kid seems not to hear him. He keeps looking around, as if searching for something in the dark.

So he lifts his own head and shouts to the stars, "Help me! Help! Please help me! No! No! _Noooo_!"

The stars keep shining. The wind rustles the leaves in the trees, and makes the kid shiver.

He puts the blindfold in his pocket with his keys and says, "Let's get inside."


	39. Chapter 39

He starts a fire and fills the kettle at the tap. "Would you--?" he asks with a nod to one of the cupboards.

The kid obediently goes to open it. Then he stills, his fingers whitening on the door. After a moment he says in a strained voice, "Lead sprinkler?"

He sets the kettle on the stove. "It works with other hot liquids too."

The kid closes the cupboard door and turns around. His breathing is _almost_ under control and he manages to meet his eyes. "Why am I here?"


	40. Chapter 40

He leads the kid to an armchair in the next room and takes his own seat. The chessboard sits between them. "Kid, you're a profiler now. You can tell _me_ why you're here."

The kid looks away. Licks dry lips. Looks back in determination. "I'd really like to hear you say it. Please."

He shakes his head. "You tell me. I'll correct you if you get it wrong."

The kid's eyes fall on the cast-iron poker he's picked up along the way.


	41. Chapter 41

With a forced steadiness the kid ventures, "You're planning to torture me. I don't know exactly how, because none of your previous victims have been found, but I know you're fascinated by instruments of torture. Using them to extract pain excites you, but that's not enough. You need your victims to trust you. That's why you gave them soaps before you lured them here with the promise of food and shelter, and it's why you've been grooming me since I joined the BAU.

"Only their trust wouldn't have lasted," he continues. "They certainly wouldn't have willingly worn that blindfold out here. Which was fine, because you could dispose of them -- I'm guessing they're buried out here, and I'm guessing there's a lot more of them than ever made it into a missing person report, because you were careful. You picked the kind of person who usually wouldn't be missed.

"But people would miss me. And there's security footage of us leaving the BAU together tonight. So you can't kill me -- and you don't want to. That's why you had me wear the blindfold, so I wouldn't know where your cabin is. You want to torture me tonight then take me back home to keep working together, as if nothing ever happened, until the next time you can bring me here to torture me again. You're relying on the bond that's developed between us to keep me silent -- to keep me trusting you completely... even as you flay the skin from my back."

There's a long silence. He feels his chest heave shallowly just from anticipation. Then the kid ventures again, "Is there... anything you need to correct?"

"No," he says, and gives him a congratulatory smile. "It's a good profile."


	42. Chapter 42

The kid takes a breath. "Will you t-tell me--" He shuts his eyes for just a moment, and resumes in a lower voice: "Please. I'd like to know exactly what you're planning to do to me tonight."

"You don't need to know that. Just trust me."

"Well, I do trust you," the kid admits, "and I know that in medieval times showing the instruments of torture was considered to be the first torture, but I'd-- I'd still like to know."

It shouldn't make him so giddy to hear that _I do trust you_. But it does, and he can't resist -- he never could resist the kid. So he says, "I'm going to strip you naked and hang you up by your wrists." He gestures at the hook on the ceiling currently dangling a lantern. "I'll warm you up with the lead sprinkler and I'll light some candles under your feet. Work up a good sweat to reduce the resistance for my picana electrica." The kid looks like he's trying not to flinch. "When you're unconscious I'll let you down and tie you next to my bed for the night. Then, before we go home, I'll strap you with my belt like your father used to."

The kid's eyes shut again on a forehead creased with pain. With an effort he shakes it away and murmurs, "To show me you care."

"Well," he says awkwardly, "if that's why he did it... I'll do it."


	43. Chapter 43

The kid looks down at his lap and clasped hands. "What if I say no?"

"You won't," he says confidently. In the other room, the kettle begins to shrill a complaint.

"What if I fight or run, like your other victims tried to?"

"Kid, you're nothing like my other victims." The kettle shrieks, and he stands up and sets the poker against the wall. "Wait there. I'll be back in a minute."


	44. Chapter 44

When he comes back the kid is still sitting there as he knew he would be, nervously straightening the hem of his jacket. He sets the boiled water on a trivet and the lead sprinkler next to it. "Why don't you start stripping for me," he suggests.

The kid nods abstractedly, his eyes on the steam rising from the kettle. Then he shrugs off his jacket. "If you don't mind," he says, draping it over the side-table beside him, "I'd like to suggest... one small amendment."

"Fire away," he says generously.

The kid tugs his tie free and leaves it on top of the jacket. "Instead of you doing all that to me," he says, bending down to his shoelace -- and sitting up again, a gun in his hand aimed smoothly and squarely at his mark -- "how about I do it to you."


	45. Chapter 45

"You see," says the kid when he's backed against the wall with his hands behind his head, " _this_ is my favourite part."

He's not sure he's providing the kind of satisfaction the kid wants. With the gun aimed at his forehead all his anticipation, excitement and nerves have disappeared -- but he's not feeling shock or horror or even anger at the turning of tables. Just a hyperlucid calm. He points out, "You can't hold that on me indefinitely."

"No," the kid agrees. "But then I only need to hold it on you long enough to show you this."

He watches the kid pull a phone from his pocket and set it on the chessboard at king's four. A second gun, a second phone: he's known they were coming here, and he's prepared for it.

"I dialled a number on the way to your car," the kid tells him. "Fortunately my friend's voicemail doesn't have any practical limit to the length of the messages it can receive and we seem to have pretty good reception out here, so he'll get a good earful of your confession tomorrow morning. Unless I get there first and convince him to give me the recording, of course."


	46. Chapter 46

"But then," the kid continues, carelessly setting his gun on the chessboard too -- it knocks over three pawns and the king behind them -- "you're not going to keep bringing me back here to torture you again and again just because I could put you in prison for life any time I want -- any more than you would have just because I could have put a bullet in your head."

"Then why do you think I will?" he asks.

The kid unbuttons his cuffs and begins rolling up his sleeves. "You're a profiler. You tell me."


	47. Chapter 47

His raised arms are beginning to ache. He says reluctantly, "You think our conversations have made me curious what it's like to be on the other end of the lash. You think I'm tired of resisting and I want to submit to it."

The kid studies his face with the same disapproving look he turns on UnSubs. Then he takes the discarded poker and goes to heat it over the fire.

His breath hitches. "Wait," he says. The kid looks at him as impassively as when he looks at... sadists and murderers. His aching shoulders sag and he says, "It's because I killed them. I... tortured twenty-two people to death and I-- I can't... I can't," he says helplessly.

"You can't erase the guilt of that from your soul," the kid finishes for him. "You've tried, but no matter how many lives you save from other serial killers, they just don't cancel out. You murdered twenty-two people. You need to pay for that. I'm going to make you pay, and you're going to let me."


	48. Chapter 48

His shirt is with his sweater on the floor and he can't quite bring himself to start on his belt. The kid wordlessly moves in and unbuckles it and he can't quite bring himself to stop him either. He tries, "Kid--"

"Jason," the kid interrupts -- unbuttons, unzips -- "call me Hotch."

He shivers as his pants and boxers are pushed down. And he kicks off his shoes: he tells himself it's better than having his ankles trapped.

Hotch moves back to watch him stepping out of his pants. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes dilated as he looks the stocky bulk of him up and down. "Now," he says at last, turning his back on Jason, phone, and gun alike, "I'm guessing you've got a heretic's fork around here somewhere. Cutlery drawer?"


End file.
